Ibampton  Sketches 


The  Woodman 

€.  (Cljirlipatrr 


^iiBtttutr  ^tcae 
Samptiiii.  Virginia 


THIS  SKETCH  HAS  APPEARED 
IN  THE  “INDIAN’S  FRIEND”  AND 
IN  THE  • SOUTHERN  WORKMAN” 


THE  WOODMAN 


BY  E.  L.  CHICHESTER 

"The  Indian  is  not  a lazy  man,  but  he  does  need 
to  be  provided  with  proper  channels  for  his  ener- 
gies, and  incentives  for  their  use.”  F.  E.  Lcupp. 

There  are  people  living  in  Syraense 
who  remember  Joseph  Lion  well. 
He  was  an  Onondaga  Indian  and  worked 
at  the  carpenter's  trade. 

To  most  white  people  Joseph  seemed 
commonplace  enough.  Absorbed,  taci- 
turn, and  rather  gloomy,  we  can  picture 
him  clad  in  white  man’s  clothes,  and  work 
clothes  at  that,  that  fitted  him  in  the 
pitiful,  second-hand  fashion  that  the 
garments  of  civilization  fit  the  red  man. 
But  it  would  take  an  eloquent  pen  in- 
deed to  describe  the  emotions  that  seeth- 
ed in  his  soul.  The  swarthy,  expres- 
sionless face  masked  the  memories  of  a 
great  past  in  which  the  man  lived  his 
real  life. 

The  Iroquois  had  possessed  and  ruled 
where  the  people  of  Syracuse  had  their 
homes,  and  the  Onondagas,  the  council 
tribe  of  the  Six  Nations,  had  made 
peace  and  declared  war  in  their  Council 
House  centuries  before  the  Town  Hall 
was  thought  of. 


Joseph,  edging  through  the  crowd  on 
his  way  to  his  cabin  on  the  reservation,  at 
the  close  of  his  day’s  work,  lost  him- 
self in  these  dreams  of  the  past,  and 
when  he  had  shed  his  hated  overalls  and 
dressed  in  the  costume  of  his  people  he 
was  another  being. 

The  man  was  a paj>an  Indian  and 
smoked  his  pipe  in  solemn  conclave, 
or  hopped  about  in  the  ecstacy  of  the 
dance  within  sound  of  the  bell  of  the 
Old  Valley  Church.  All  this  was  bar- 
barous and  meaningless  to  wliite  peo- 
ple when  it  w'as  not  actually  sacrilegi- 
ous, but  little  did  the  average  Christian 
missionary  of  that  day  appreciate  the 
sound  moral  principles  that  found  ex- 
pression in  Joseph's  guttural  speech,  or 
realize  that  there  was  a character  in  the 
man  that  commanded  the  respect  of  the 
Indian  boys  who  looked  up  to  him, 
standing  in  his  buckskin  and  feathers, 
from  where  they  squatted  on  the  floor 
of  the  Council  House. 

One  of  these  boys  was  Joseph's  grand- 
son, little  Hohs-qua-sa-ga-da,  which 
means,  in  the  Indian  language,  “the  man 
with  the  ax  on  his  shoulder,”  or  “ the 
Woodman.”  In  the  boy  the  saddened 
heart  of  Joseph  found  some  solace,  and 
he  cherished  the  hope  that  the  solemn 


meaning  of  the  dance  would  be  ob- 
served by  him,  and  the  memories  and 
traditions  of  the  past  greatness  of  his 
people  be  kept  alive  in  his  person. 

He  taught  the  little  Woodman  from 
his  full  store  of  Indian  tradition  and 
eithics,  and  warned  him  with  gloomy 
threats  against  the  white  man  and  all 
his  ways;  especially,  so  Joseph  told  him, 
was  he  to  shun  the  printed  book,  for 
evil  for  the  Indian,  and  evil  only, 
was  to  be  found  there.  A devil , he  de- 
clared, lurked  between  its  covers. 

Joseph  died  among  the  very  last  of 
the  old  regim^,  and  with  him  went  out, 
not  only  his  store  of  memories  of  a past 
greatness  and  power,  but  most  of  the 
reverence  that  invested  the  Indian  cere- 
monies, and  all  that  was  edifying  and 
inspiring  in  them. 

The  Woodman,  an  orphan,  was  taken 
into  the  family  of  relatives.  They  were 
reservation  Indians  with  all  that  that 
implied  of  ignorance,  poverty,  and  mal- 
adjustment to  the  life  and  interests  of 
this  great  and  properous  country.  With 
children  of  their  own  and  barely 
enough  to  feed  them,  the  outlook  for 
this  extra  little  Indian  was  a sad  one. 

He  used  to  sit  on  his  bench  against 


the  wall  while  the  family  partook  of  its 
meal,  and  was  allowed  to  approach  the 
table  and  help  himself  to  anything  th^ 
was  left  after  the  others  were  through. 
It  makes  one’s  heart  ache  to  think  of 
the  hollow-eyed,  stoical  little  fellow, 
with  his  empty  stomach  and  timid 
spirit.  People  think  of  Indians  as  fierce, 
and  forget  that  they  are  wild  by  nature 
and  share  the  fears  of  all  wild  things. 

After  a season  of  this  life  Providence 
interfered  in  the  Woodman’s  case  in  the 
person  of  a lady  missionary.  This  wo- 
man found  a white  farmer  with  a kind 
wife  and  a bountiful  table,  and  got  the 
poor,  half-starved  little  Woodman  into 
their  home. 

There  were  small  girls  in  the  family 
who  were  kind  to  him,  and  taught  him 
to  speak  English  and  something  of 
reading  and  writing  as  well.  He  did 
not  forget  his  grandfather’s  teaching. 
The  memory  of  the  grave,  earnest  face 
of  Joseph  Lion  commanded  his  rev- 
erence, but  the  fear  of  the  white  man’s 
influence  was  lessened  among  these 
friends,  and  a curiosity  to  find  and  see, 
with  his  own  eyes,  the  devil  that  lurked 
in  the  printed  book  gave  a kind  of 
wicked  zest  to  his  studies. 


After  a year  or  two,  through  the  in- 
fluence of  the  same  good  woman  who 
had  found  him  his  home  on  a farm, 
the  Woodman  was  sent  to  Hampton  In- 
stitute in  Virginia.  It  was  supposed 
that  the  Government  would  help  him 
here,  but  Uncle  Sam,  who  makes  an 
annual  appropriation  for  his  red 
children  sent  to  this  school,  looked 
askance  at  a youth  with  a Central  New 
York  address.  No  Indian  surely  could 
be  found  in  the  midst  of  this  civilized 
Empire  State — that  is,  not  one  who  was 
Indian  enough  to  draw  public  moneys — 
and  the  fact  that  the  youth  in  question 
was  the  grandson  of  an  Onondaga  chief, 
that  his  ancestors  had  never  voted, 
that  he  made  his  wants  known  in  the 
English  tongue  with  difficulty,  and 
that  he  regarded  white  people  and  their 
ways  with  ill-concealed  fear,  weighed 
not  a whit  in  giving  him  his  standing 
as  a nation's  ward. 

If  he  stayed  at  Hampton  he  must  re- 
main on  the  footing  of  the  Negro 
students  and  earn  his  own  keep  while 
he  carried  on  his  studies.  It  was  hard, 
but  it  was  this  or  return  to  the  hard- 
ships and  uncertainties  of  life  on  the 
reservation,  so  he  entered  on  his  work 


year,  a year  with  long  hours  and  steady 
toil,  with  much  of  the  spirit  of  a galley 
slave. 

How  impossible  it  is  for  a white  man 
to  understand  the  contempt  with  which 
an  old-time  Indian  regards  work!  For 
a free  man  to  voluntarily  devote  his 
waking  hours  to  toil  is  quite  beyond 
the  Indian's  power  to  conceive.  This 
attitude  toward  work  was  bred  in  the 
Woodman’s  bone,  but  Hampton  bolds 
the  secret  of  joy  in  toil,  if  it  is  held 
anywhere,  and  the  Woodman,  now 
grown  to  be  a tall  youth  in  his  early 
twenties,  actually  came  to  like  the  life 
with  its  long  hours  and  constantly 
stimulated  pride  in  accomplishment. 
He  came  to  perceive,  with  more  and 
more  distinctness,  what  it  was  that  in- 
terested the  white  man  in  his,  to  the 
Indian,  singular  manner  of  life.  He 
chose  the  machinist’s  trade  and  in  three 
years  gained  a degree  of  skill  that  en- 
abled him  to  find  work  outside.  Then 
he  went  back  to  the  neighborhood  of  his 
home  and  entered  a railroad  shop,  where 
he  built  locomotives. 

Picture  him  at  this  time — tall,  silent, 
and  pre-occupied,  but  with  a smile  that 
lighted  his  whole  face  and  won  the  in- 
terest and  sympathy  of  the  veriest 


stranger.  He  had  marked  Indian  features 
and  eyes  that,  like  his  grandfather’s, 
seemed  to  see  things  beyond  the  task  in 
hand, but  this,  in  the  Woodman’s  case, 
was  only  seeming;  for  though  he  remem- 
bered the  traditions  of  the  reservation, 
and  his  own  childhood  experiences  and 
impressions  in  the  Council  House,  these 
were  but  dim  memories,  and  the  de- 
mands of  his  trade  and  the  friends  and 
interests  of  the  active  life  he  was  living, 
satisfied  him. 

The  Woodman,  in  his  thoughts  and 
pursuits,  had  become  a white  man;  but 
back  of  it  all  was  race  consciousness; 
and  the  school  that  had  trained  him  had 
impressed  him  with  a sense  of  a peculiar 
responsibility  to  his  people.  This 
showed  in  an  interesting  way  after  he 
had  been  for  some  time  in  the  shop. 
The  men  proposed  his  name  as  a mem- 
ber of  their  Union.  He  thought  the  mat- 
ter over  with  care  and  finally  consented 
to  join  as  an  Indian.  The  members  de- 
murred, but  he  was  firm,  and  they  took 
him  in  on  a basis  that  left  the  door  open 
to  others  of  his  race. 

Seventeen  years  the  man  followed  his 
trade  in  this  shop;  he  was  not  satisfied 
to  do  ordinary  work,  but  studied  and 


practised  till  his  product  ranked  with 
the  best.  Later  he  would  speak  of  the 
delight  he  took  in  this  work,  the  delight 
incident  to  a growing  comprehension 
and  the  increased  respect  of  his  fellow 
workmen.  He  had  acquired  what  Gen- 
eral Armstrong  used  to  call  “the  work 
habit.” 

Now  he  went  back  to  Hampton  and 
assisted  in  the  machine  shop  there.  He 
was  again  thrown  with  his  people — the 
Sioux,  the  Crows,  the  Navahoes,  the 
Apaches,  and  the  pauperized  reserva- 
tion Indians  of  the  East.  He  did  not 
classify  these  people — the  Woodman's 
mind  was  not  at  all  of  this  order.  He 
simply  liked  folks,  and  fraternized  with 
the  children  of  the  red  race — his  folks 
curious,  suspicious  youths — they  were 
playing  at  the  white  man’s  work.  The 
Woodman  knew  just  how  they  felt.  Had 
he  not  been  there  himself  ? The  call 
of  the  wild  was  in  their  blood.  Time — 
three,  four,  five  years — more  time,  and 
still  more,  was  needed  to  drill  hand 
and  mind  to  the  white  man's  task  and 
give  the  things  that  interested  him  a 
chance  to  interest  them.  How  patiently 
the  Woodman  worked  with  them!  How 
well  he  understood ! 


Visitors  would  ask  him,  with  unbelief 
in  their  tones,  if  he  could  make  these 
fellows  work.  He  fairly  beamed  as 
he  answered,  reminding  them  of  the 
background  of  these  youths,  and  assur- 
ing them  they  would  all  come  out  well 
if  one  only  understood  and  had  pa- 
tience. To  meet  him  in  the  shop  at 
Hampton  was  a lesson  on  the  proper 
attitude  of  the  strong  toward  the  weak, 
not  easily  forgotten. 

He  had  land  on  his  reservation  and 
returned,  in  time,  to  identify  himself 
with  the  Indians  of  his  tribe.  One 
after  another  of  the  boys  here  came 
under  his  influence  and  was  persuaded 
to  learn  a trade.  One  after  another 
drew  out  of  a condition  of  dependence 
and  dread,  and  tasted  the  freedom  and 
power  that  come  to  the  man  who  knows 
how.  The  Woodman  himself  secured  a 
steady  job  in  one  of  the  machine  shops 
in  Syracuse.  Here  you  meet  him,  dress- 
ed in  his  working  clothes,  and  thread- 
ing his  way  through  the  crowds  in  the 
steeet  after  his  day’s  work,  as  his  grand- 
father did  before  him;  but  whereas  poor 
Joseph  Lion  dreamed  embittered  dreams 
and  felt  himself  the  victim  of  untoward 
circumstances,  his  grandson  has  con- 


quered  where  he  was  overcome,  and 
looks  forward,  where  Joseph  dwelt  only 
on  the  past. 

The  Woodman  is  a Christian  but  he  is 
not  a preacher;  that  is,  he  does  not  talk 
easily  in  public.  The  English  language, 
even,  he  does  not  speak  as  if  it  were  his 
mother  tongue,  but  he  is  a doer  of  the 
word.  Only  those  in  his  confidence  know 
with  what  interest  he  watches  the  growth 
of  his  brother.  How  will  this  Indian  boy 
whom  the  Woodman  carries  on  his 
heart,  come  out  ? Shy,  taciturn,  ques- 
tioning, he  may  break  on  the  rocks  that 
wreck  civilized  as  well  as  uncivilized 
man,  but  he  is  rescued  from  the  dry 
rot,  the  dependence,  the  utter  hopeless- 
ness of  the  reservation  Indian.  He  is 
a living,  integral  unit  of  the  land  in 
which  he  was  born.  For  better  or  for 
worse  he  is  one  of  us. 


